


Thank You For All Your Lovin!

by waltermitty



Series: Good Omens [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angel/Demon Relationship, Angel/Demon Sex, Bottom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Elton John - Freeform, Fluffy Ending, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Little Dialogue, Love Confessions, M/M, Mostly narration, Sexy Times, Sweet, Top Crowley (Good Omens), crowley smoochs aziraphale six ways to sunday and more, is aziraphale a foodie, lots of fluff, rocketman exists in their world, snake! crowley, strawberry tarts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-13
Updated: 2019-06-13
Packaged: 2020-05-07 06:39:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19203949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waltermitty/pseuds/waltermitty
Summary: Aziraphale and Crowley decide that life is, in fact, short, after all, and why shouldn't they do whatever they want.





	Thank You For All Your Lovin!

**Author's Note:**

> another one ! omg! here is a fluffy slightly smutty little fic bc I love Crowley and Aziraphale and their lives together. 
> 
> I saw a post on Tumblr that said that Crowley would b a big snake boy in Aziraphale's bookshop and I took some inspiration from there, as well as a quote from Rocketman, which given the circumstances, I thought fit well. God bless u Taron Eggerton and Elton John. 
> 
> anyways! enjoy!!! more to come for sure, I love this pairing too much.

Crowley had seen lots of variations of lovemaking in the media throughout his supple years on earth. Aziraphale did his best to avoid such, as he lectured Crowley on the inaccuracies of such portrayals, and that if he wanted to see something real he could just go do it himself. So here they were, dining in the Ritz mere moments after saving the world, and all Crowley could think about was biting Aziraphale on the neck so hard it’d leave a mark, and what he'd sound like.

 

The angel had been happily talking about the delights of roasted salmon for thirty years and Crowley didn't even _like_ human food, the taste bitter and chalky in his mouth.

 

Alcohol may have been his only exception, years upon centuries of Aziraphale excitedly munching one treat to the next, often shoving bites and pieces into Crowley's mouth, happily babbling about the fact that the very smelly cheese was in fact 100 years old.

 

Crowley hated that stupid cheese.

 

Aziraphale was in his own little world, the angel excitedly ordering their dinners as Crowley brooded opposite him, peeking at his puff of white hair through the sides of his sunglasses.

 

"Oh, Crowley, look they have strawberry tarts! Oh, we must have some!! The last time I had a strawberry tart-" Aziraphale trails off as he thinks about the last time he had a strawberry tart, which Crowley knows was during the late 1970s, in a little diner in the middle of Wisconsin.

 

The angel had been there on a small mission of goodwill, as he had ever so haughtily informed Crowley after arriving home from the trip, several boxes of the strawberry tarts piled up in his arms.

 

"1978! It was 1978 when I went to-" Aziraphale chirps, Crowley cutting him off with a "Yes, the diner in Wisconsin. I know Angel."

 

Aziraphale pouts ever so slightly as he sips his champagne, half annoyed at being cut off and half pleased that Crowley remembered. He eyes him over the top of his glass, swallowing down the urge to muss up that perfect flame of untamed red hair on Crowley's head.

 

They enjoy their dinner as much as an angel and a demon who just saved the world and are realizing they had spent the better part of their lifetimes pining after one another can.

 

It's mostly clinking cutlery on Aziraphale's end of the table, little moans and gasps of delight as he chewed and swallowed and enjoyed every last second of his salad, steak, and the eventual strawberry tart.

 

Crowley was dying.

 

A slow and painful death it would be, he mused, picking at his salad as he listens to the angel make obscene noises over his meal. Crowley can't help but imagine the noises the angel might make if Crowley had him spread out like his own kind of feast, licking and biting and _sucking_ his way down the angel's beautiful body, ethereal and glowing and _fuck_ holy.

 

A slow and painful death indeed.

 

Aziraphale was an angel but he wasn't an idiot and if the vein that Crowley was about to burst in his neck was anything to go off of, Crowley had something pressing on his mind. Aziraphale secretly hoped it was the same thought he'd been having, the thought of getting Crowley all sorts of riled up, finally getting him to well- fuck him- six ways to Sunday. The thought alone made him blush, _a demon and an angel, consummating._ Aziraphale wasn't a prude, in fact, sex was invented by God herself, bless the almighty for that, but it was the idea of doing such things with Crowley that got the angel all hot under the collar. He promised himself to bring it up as soon as they finished their dinner, not wanting to spoil their first meal together in ages.

 

"Crowley my dear- drink some champagne, loosen up. You look as if you're about to explode where you sit." Aziraphale pops a bite of food into his mouth and waggles his fork at Crowley as if he would know better.

 

Crowley balls the expensive tablecloth in his fits so hard it catches fire, and Aziraphale promptly puts it out for him.

 

"Angel, If you don't stop moaning over your steak like the goddamn whore of Babylon, I'm going to take you back to our home and show you something worth moaning over." Crowley leans forward to growl this in the angel's ear, delighting ever so slightly in the way Aziraphale's jaw clenches shut and he turns bright pink.

 

And then it happens.

 

His angel’s lips part ever so slightly, and he shifts his eyes to Crowley's, lets out the most obscene moan the demon has ever heard, right into his ear, lips brushing the coiled snake on his cheek and that's it.

 

Caution to the wind, Crowley snaps them back to their little cottage, a quaint little thing he managed to procure on their journey to dinner.

 

He gives Aziraphale a moment to orient himself, to call the whole thing a bluff because yes he was a demon but he didn't drop his manners when he fell.

 

"Oh, Crowley it's spectacularl! Look at that beautiful vegetable garden!" Aziraphale, clearly distracted, hops around the paisley easy chairs and presses his nose to the window, breath fogging up the glass.

 

"Mhm yes, beautiful indeed." Crowley murmurs, eyes fixated on Aziraphale's ass in his trousers.

 

Aziraphale blessedly turns around, presses himself back against the window, sunlight streaming through, painting him in the sort of golden light that made Crowley want to drop to his knees and _worship._

 

"Crowley? Are you going to stand there looking like you've just witnessed creation or come over here and kiss me properly?" Aziraphale crosses his arms petulantly across his chest, cocks his head to the side with a small smile on his lips.

 

Crowley drags himself over to his angel, cups his cheeks and kisses him.

 

He kisses him like he's wanted to for hell knows how long, some millennia's worth of love pouring out in that one kiss. Aziraphale gasps ever so prettily, wraps one holy hand around the back of Crowley's neck and the other slips underneath his jacket, resting against his heart.

 

Aziraphale didn't think that line would work on Crowley, but, pressed against the window, with the demon's hand cupping his cheek, fingers tangled in the strands he could reach, the other slipping to rest on his hip, Aziraphale realized just how well it worked. He allowed himself to be kissed thoroughly, the sort of kiss one gets after several lifetimes of waiting.

 

They finally break for air, and Crowley's hair is all mussed up and his sunglasses are somewhere between their feet and Aziraphale thinks he looks beautiful. He tells him as such, and the demon's lips quirk, his eyes widening as he stares at Aziraphale for a moment, before leaning back in to kiss him senseless yet again.

 

They kiss against the window until both of them are moaning and panting and Aziraphale is about ready to sock Crowley right in the nose if he doesn't get him into bed _right this instant_ and as if on cue, or perhaps it's the way he nibbles on the demons lip, Aziraphale finds himself in bed, pinned between Crowley and the mattress.

 

"You want this- right Angel? All of this? Cause- we could just kiss for all I care."

 

Crowley has been earnest all of one other time in his life, and he only excuses it due to the fact that the world was ending and it was mostly he and Aziraphale's fault, and running away seemed logical. Begging felt right then- the idea of making a place for themselves in the stars enough to make him forget himself.

 

Aziraphale had that effect on people.

 

"Oh, Crowley yes- oh for heaven's sake it's all I want! If you'd be so kind as to get on with giving me something to moan about I'd be ever so delight-oomph" Crowley cuts him off with another kiss, ever so tactfully removing their clothes in one go, pressing kisses into the hollow of the angel's creamy throat, slipping himself closer ever so softly.

 

Demons are famous for being exceptional at showing no emotion. Crowley is famously no ordinary demon. He wants to scream it from the rooftops, wants to whisper to his angel just how much he _loves_ him, but all he can do is let a few small tears slip out as he slides home.

 

If Aziraphale sees him cry he pays no mind, too caught up in their lovemaking to care anyhow.

 

He moans and cries and whimpers and Crowley swallows each one with a gentle press of lips and the tender movements of a creature so enraptured by his love he cannot help but savor each moment, slow and gentle and filled with the love only a Demon named Crowley and an Angel named Aziraphale could share. They lay together in their bed, Crowley's plants towering above them like a canopy of green, for once in their lives not shivering in fear but trembling and teeming with smugness and excitement.

 

" Lord Crowley is not scary now," they crow to one another. "Why, he's curled up with an angel and he's whispering sweet nothings!" They are free to grow, at last, no more are the terrifying growth spurts or the last minute buds.

 

Aziraphale gives them a small wink as he curls deeper into Crowley's arms, all golden glow and sunshine, the plants notice.

 

"Crowley.."

 

"Yes, Angel?"

 

"I love you. And I know I said I wouldn't, couldn't run away with you, that there could be no- well, no us." Aziraphale pauses, traces a hand across Crowley's chest, presses a kiss to his cheek. "But Crowley, my dear? Without you? There is no me."

 

"I love you, angel. Where there is darkness there is no you." Crowley replies, curls his arms tighter around his angel and sighs, lets himself rest for maybe the first time in several thousand years.

 

Aziraphale and Crowley make the rest of their lives together something to remember. They write sonnets for one another and cook extravagant meals and when Adam comes to visit he and Crowley make Aziraphale swear to never use fake magic again and that if he is, in fact, going to show them a trick it better be by the power of the Almighty

 

. And Crowley often slithers through the bursting shelves of Aziraphale's bookshop, Sherlock Holmes wrapped tightly in his coils, plops it on his angel's desk and loops around his neck, begs him ever so slyly to read it to him.

 

And the sign on the door reads "Sorry, We're Closed" but they aren't really sorry, Crowley thinks, listens to the soft purr of his Angels voice in the candlelight, and sends silent thanks to the Almighty for her great ineffable plan.


End file.
